Punch (100.1891)

February 28, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 97

SPECIMENS PROM MR. PUNCH'S SCAMP-ALBUM.
No. II.—The Literacy "Ghost."

We will assume, simply for the purposes
of this argument, that you, reader, are an
innocent - minded elderly lady, and a
regular suhscriber to the Local Circulating
Library. Tou are sitting by your com-
fortable fireside, knitting a " cross-over "
for a Bazaar, when your little
maid announces a gentleman,
who says he has not a card-
case with him, but requests
that you will see him,

'' Tou are sure he is a
gentleman, Mary Ann ? " you
will inquire, with a slight
uneasiness as to the um-
brellas in the hall.

"Oh, a puffict
gentleman, Mam,"
says Mary Ann—
" with a respirator."

Upon this testi-
mony to his social
standing, you direct
that the perfect gen-
tleman shall be
shown in.

Mary Ann has not deceived you—he has a respirator, also blue
spectacles, and a red nose. He apologises with fluent humility for
intruding upon you without the honour of a previous acquaintance,
and takes a chair, after which he shifts his respirator to his chin,
sheds a pair of immense woollen gloves into his hat, and produces a
bundle of papers, over which he intreats you to cast an eye. On
perusing them, they prove to be letters from various eminent authors,
whose names are, more or less, familiar to you. These documents
are more interesting as autographs than from any intrinsic literary
merit, for they all refer to remittances for various amounts, and
regret politely that the writer is not in a position to obtain permanent
employment for his correspondent. While you are reading them,
your visitor pays assiduous court to your cat—which impresses you
favourably.

"Possibly, Madam," he suggests, "you may be personally ac-
quainted with some of those gentlemen ? " When you confess that
you have not that honour, he seems more at his ea?e.

"I asked," he says, " because I have long heard of you as a Lady
of great taste and judgment in literary matters—which, after seeing
you, I can the more readily understand."

It is a fact that several of your nieces and female neighbours are
in the habit of declaring that they would rather take your opinion on
a novel than that of all the critics ; still, you had not expected your
fame to have spread so wide.

" I had another motive," he confesses, "because, if you were inti-
mate with any of these authors, I should naturally 'esitate to say
anything which might have the effect of altering your opinion of
them. As it is, I can speak with perfect freedom—though in the
strictest confidence. Tou see before you, Madam, an unfortunate
bean, whom circumstances have 'itherto debarred from ever reaping
the fruit of his own brine ! Well may you remark, ' Tour Gracious
Goodness'"—[your natural astonishment having escaped you in the
shape of this invocation)—"for in your goodness and in your gracious-
ness rests my sole remaining 'ope. I was endowed from an early
age with a fertile and versatile imagination, and creative powers
which, without vanity, I may say, were of a rather superior class.
The one thing I lacked was inliooence, and in the world of letters,
Madam, as I am sure you do not need to be informed, without
inflooence Genius is denied a suitable opening. At several literary
Clubs in the West End I made the acquaintance of the authors
whose letters you have just had the opportunity of reading—men
who have since attained to the topmost pinnacle of Fame. At that
time they were comparatively obscure ; they 'eard my conversation,
they realised that I 'ad ideers, of which they knew the value better,
perhaps, than I did myself. I used to see them taking down notes
on their shirt-cuffs, and that, but I took no notice of it at the time.
Probably you have read the celebrated work of fiction by Mr. Gash-
leigh Walker, entitled, King Cole's Cellars ? I thought so. I
Rave him the plot, scenery and characters complete, for that story.
I did, indeed."

" And do you mean to say he has taken all the credit himself! "
you exclaim, very properly shocked.

"If he has," he replies, meekly, "I am far from complaining—a
shilling or two was an object to me at that time. And it got me
more work of the sort. There's Booty Bay, now, the book that
made Robertson—that was took down, word for word, from my

dictation, in a back parlour of one of Lockhart's Cocoa-Rooms. I got
fifteen shillings for that. He got, I daresay, 'undreds of pounds.
Well, I don't grudge it to him. As he said, I ought to remember
he had all the manual labour of it. Then there's that other book
which has sold its thousands, Four Men in a Funny—that was
mine—all but the last chapter; he would put in that, and, in my
opinion, spoilt it, from an artistic point. But what could I do ?
It was out of my 'ands ! I must say I never anticipated myself
that it would be so popular. ' I should be robbing you,' I said, 1 if I
took more than ten shillings for it.' All the same, it turned out a
good bargain for him. Then there's the Drama, you would hardly
credit it that I could name three leading theatres at this present
moment where pieces are running which came originally out of my
'ed ! But it'8 no use my saying so—no one would believe it. And
now I've 'elped all these men up the ladder, they can do without
me—they can go alone—or think they can. See the way they write
—not a word about owing anything to my 'umble services, a postal
order for three-and-six ; but that's the world all over ! "

" But surely," you will sympathetically observe, " you will expose
them, you will insist on sharing in the reward of your labours—it is
a duty you owe to the public, as well as yourself ! "

" So I've been told, Madam. But what can I do ?—I'm a poor
man. ' Slow rises worth, by poverty depressed,' as Pope, or Gold-
smith—for a similar idea occurs in both—truly observes. To put
my case before the public as it ought to be put, I should first have to
gain the ear of the Press—and you want a golden key to do that,
nowadays. The Press is very reluctant to run down successful
writers. ' Hawks won't pick out Awkses heyes,' as Burns re-
marks. {By this time you are probably fumbling for your purse,
which , as usual, is at the bottom of your work-basket.) No, they will
find me out some day—after I'm dead and gone, most likely ! _ In
the meantime I envy nobody. I have the consciousness of Genius,

and—I'm sure your generosity
is overwhelming, Madam — I
really never ventured to—Pardon
these tears; it is the first time
my poor talents have ever ob-
tained such recognition as this !
Could you crown your favours
by giving me the names and ad-
dresses of any
charitable friends
and neighbours
whom you think
at all likely to
follow your noble
example ? . . . I
thank you from
my heart, Madam,
and, when I suc-
ceed in recovering
my literary in-
'eritance, and am
called upon to
issue a collected
edition of my
works, I shall
take the liberty of
inscribing on the
title-page a dedi-
cation to the gene-
rous benefactress
who first 'elped to
restore my fallen
" Slow rises worth by poverty depressed." fortunes ! "

With this he

seals his lips again with theT_respirator, pockets his documents and
your donation, and bows himself gratefully out, leaving you to
meditate on the unscrupulousness of popular Authors, and the ease
with which a confiding public is hoodwinked.

M. P. Manfield, M.P.

Northampton's new Member an honour can claim

On which he need set little store :
He now has M P. written after his name,

But he always had M.P. before.

If every M.P. in the lobby counts one.
To the Ayes, or the Noes, walking through,

Does logic demand, in each case, pro and con,,
M. P. Manfield, M.P., should count two ?

Chance for Spinsters of an Uncertain Agf.—There is to be a
Mahommedan Mission in England,

vol. c.

K